


Bottoms Up!

by Alvinola



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stomach Ache, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-31 10:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20113438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alvinola/pseuds/Alvinola
Summary: Drunk Dean puts Sam in a new, but interesting, situation.





	1. Chapter 1

It was already getting dark outside when Sam returned to the bunker, carrying six weighty, leather-bound books. They didn’t have an open case at the moment and while Dean spent the majority of his time tinkering on the Impala, Sam liked to head to the local library to browse through their impressive collection of new and old books. Beside the fact that he enjoyed reading, he also had to get out of the bunker from time to time. He loved his brother, but Dean and boredom did not mix well. And there was only so much one could fix on a car that was in perfect shape.

When Sam unlocked the bunker’s heavy steel door, he was surprised to neither see nor hear anyone. Looking over the banister, he glanced around the empty hall. “Guys, I’m back,” he announced, wondering where Dean and Castiel were. When he left them two hours ago, they were about to move from the kitchen into the bunker’s library, planning on going over some old lore. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.

Carefully balancing the stack of books on his arms, Sam walked down the stairs. When he still didn’t hear anyone, he just shrugged and headed for his bedroom. His arms were getting numb and he was eager to put down the heavy books.

When he walked down the hallway to his room, he habitually looked inside the kitchen when he passed it. He noted that the light was still on and he made a mental note to remind his brother _again _to switch of the lights before leaving a room. It was a bad habit Sam just couldn’t bring Dean to change.

Sam was a couple of steps past the kitchen when he heard a moan. Slowing his steps, he cocked his head and strained his ears. When he didn’t hear another sound, he thought he’d just imagined it. He was about to walk away, when he heard the noise again, clearer this time. A drawn-out moan, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a burp. Frowning, Sam stuck his head back in the kitchen. As before, it was empty.

He was _this _close to declaring the bunker as hunted, when he caught something out of place by the table. Just an arm that dangled off one of the stools on the other side, unmoving.

Equal parts confused and curious, Sam stepped into the kitchen. He slowly rounded the table, unsure of what to expect. But what he saw made his jaw drop.

Dean was sprawled on his back over two wooden stools. His right arm was thrown over his eyes, while his left one hung limply at his side, fingertips brushing the concrete. Whatever little Sam could see of his brother’s face was drawn into a pained grimace. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out the reason for the obvious discomfort. The fly of Dean’s jeans was undone, making room for an impressively bloated belly. Just the sight of it made Sam’s gut twinge in sympathy.

Stepping closer, Sam gently nudged his brother’s shoulder. “Dean?”

Dean startled and almost lost his precarious balance on the two stools. He hissed when he moved too abruptly, both hands flying to cup his swollen belly. “_Son of a bitch_,” he cursed, followed by a wet-sounding burp. His stomach gurgled unhappily.

Sam watched his brother with a grimace of his own. “Dude, are you okay?” he asked once Dean had settled down again. He watched his brother’s hands knead his taut belly and felt a pang of _something _in his gut.

“Don’ do that, S’mmy…” Dean said, voice sounding slurred. He squirmed a little on his back, but it was enough to unbalance him once again. Sam dropped his books on the table and lunged forward when the lower part of his brother’s body started to slide off the stool. He put a bracing hand to Dean’s hip to keep him from falling off the chairs. He huffed out a frustrated breath.

“Dean, what are you _doing_?” he asked, eyes flickering to his brother’s bloated belly again. Dean’s hands were still kneading the swollen sides and, up close, Sam was able to hear the angry gurgles that emitted from his brother’s stomach.

Dean hiccupped. “Think ‘m gonna burst, S’mmy…” Dean whined, just as his belly gave another loud, violent gurgle. He moaned and pressed one hand to the underside of his bloated tummy.

Unsure of what to do and trying to ignore the heat that blossomed in his own gut, Sam squeezed his brother’s hip in silent comfort. “What happened to you?” he asked. “And why are you sleeping in the kitchen of all places?”

Dean slowly opened his eyes and blinked up at Sam. His eyes were unfocused and before he could even say something, they fluttered closed again.

A flutter of concern made Sam shake his brother a bit. “Dean, hey! Open your eyes.”

The shaking was unappreciated by both his brother and his brother’s stomach. They both groaned pitifully and another sick-sounding burp tumbled from Dean’s lips.

“Dude, gross!” Sam grunted, turning his head away at the stench of stale beer. At least he knew what he was dealing with now. He looked back down at his brother, whose eyes were now at half-mast. “Dean, c’mon. Just _how _much did you have to drink.”

Dean swallowed thickly and for a second Sam feared he was about to projectile vomit all over the place. Thankfully, he didn’t.

“D’you have any idea how m’ch Cas c’n drink? ’s _a lot_,” Dean drawled out, sounding genuinely impressed. Then his face morphed into another grimace.

Sam blinked, slowly connecting the dots. “Dean, _please _tell me you didn’t try to outdrink an _angel_.”

When he received no answer, just a guilty look, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gotta be _kidding me! _Not even _you _can be that stupid!” he exclaimed with a disapproving glare.

“S’mmy…” Dean hiccupped miserably, interrupting the tirade. “M’tummy really hurts…”

The developing rant dissolved into thin air and Sam’s annoyance was replaced by sympathy. There was no point in lecturing his brother now. He was completely wasted and in pain. Nothing he would have said would have been remembered in the morning.

With a resigned sigh, Sam comfortingly rubbed the thumb of his left hand over the sliver of exposed skin by Dean’s hip where his shirt had ridden up a little. “I know, Dean,” he said in a gentle voice.

Dean murmured something unintelligible and clumsily fumbled with Sam’s hand that lay on his hip. Sam expected his brother to push him away then, but, instead, Dean grabbed his wrist and tugged his hand a few inches to the right, to just below his belly button. Dean pressed his own hand on top of his brother’s.

Sam froze. Heat rushed down his spine and pooled in the pit of his stomach. His hand, which was sandwiched between his brother’s bloated belly and hand, started to sweat. Even though Dean was wearing a shirt, he could feel just how taut his stomach was.

Dean moaned, arching his back a little. His tummy gurgled forebodingly, making Dean hiccup again. And again, and again. After the fifth time, Dean was starting to sweat and Sam saw him swallow thickly.

“Relax,” Sam said quietly and started to gently rub his palm back and forth over his brother’s belly. It was a small movement, but it seemed to settle some of the tumult going on inside Dean’s stomach. “How about we get you to bed?”

Dean shook his head a little. “Gonna puke…”

“No, you’re not. We’ll take it easy,” he promised, trying to figure out the best way to get his drunken brother up and moving. In the end, he decided to just slowly sit him up and then have him swing his legs over to the ground. After a few attempts, he had his right arm wrapped Dean’s shoulders, while his other hand still rested on his brother’s belly. For some reason, he simply couldn’t force himself to remove his hand. And Dean didn’t seem to mind.

With a lot of coaxing and even more physical strength, Sam pulled his brother into a sitting position. Halfway there, Dean let out an enormous belch that rattled his entire frame. “S’rry…” he mumbled, the fingers of his right hand kneading the top of his distended belly.

“Don’t worry about it, if it makes you feel better,” Sam said and gently patted his brother’s stomach. “Come on, almost there.”

The moment Dean was sitting upright, he pitched forward. Sam gasped in surprise when his brother collapsed against his chest and he quickly wrapped both arms around his shoulders. “Dean?” he asked, a little panicked that his brother had passed out.

“Feel sick, S’mmy…” Dean mumbled against his chest and Sam blew out a breath of relieve. Not unconscious then. Just really, really drunk.

Sam cupped the back of his brother’s head and started running his other hand up and down his spine. Dean’s bloated belly was gurgling and sloshing noisly, making Dean burp and hiccup in irregular intervals. Sam just waited him out for a few minutes.

When the gurgles died down a bit, Dean pulled back a little and blinked owlishly up at him. “Need t’lay down…” he grunted, hands sluggishly rubbing his belly.

Sam nodded in understanding and slowly pushed to his feet. He kept one firm hand on his brother’s chest to keep him from faceplanting, while he gently pulled one of his arms over his own shoulder. “On three. One, two, _three_.” Then he pulled Dean up.

Dean gasped in pain and stumbled against Sam’s broad chest. His free arm was wrapped tightly around his stomach and he gagged a little.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Sam yelped, wincing when Dean belched wetly.

As fast as he dared to go with his unsteady brother, Sam led them down the hallway toward Dean’s room. Thankfully, it wasn’t that far and they made it in less than five minutes.

By the time he lowered Dean down on the mattress, his older brother was a sweaty mess. His bloated belly was sloshing uncontrollably and he was paler than many of the spirits they’d taken care of. At least he would be able to sleep it off in a real bed, instead of two tiny stools.

Sam sat down next to his brother’s hip and put a hand on his colorless cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked, eyes trailing down the curve of Dean’s swollen belly.

Instead of answering, Dean groaned and curled up on his side, pressing his forehead into Sam’s thigh. Sam chuckled and ran his fingers through his brother’s sweat soaked hair. “That’s what you get for trying to outdrink an angel. By the way, where _is _Cas?”

Dean seemed too far gone already to reply, so they just stayed like that for a while, Sam carding his long fingers through Dean’s hair while Dean’s body struggled to accommodate all the beer he’d guzzled down.

When Sam stood up ten minutes later, Dean actually _whined_and twisted his fingers into the soft material of Sam’s shirt.

“Man, you’re gonna be _so_embarrassed when I tell you about this in the morning,” Sam chuckled, as he tugged his shirt out of his brother’s surprisingly strong grasp. “Calm down, I’m only taking off your pants. I’m not leaving.”

As promised, Sam carefully tugged his brother’s already unbuttoned jeans down and tossed them into a corner. He then grabbed the trashcan from next to the door and pushed it as close to Dean’s head as possible. Then, without thinking about it too much, he stripped out of his own pants and slipped into bed next to Dean. He told himself it was because he didn’t want his brother to choke on his own vomit, but there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that whispered that this wasn’t the whole truth. Sam quickly squashed that voice.

Dean remained on his side, curled around a belly that was still painfully bloated with alcohol. Without jostling the mattress too much, Sam scooted closer to his brother until he was pressed firmly against his back. When he pushed himself up on one elbow, he realized that Dean had fallen asleep. His left arm was wrapped loosely around his tummy, almost protectively, and the skin around his eyes was still pinched, indicating pain.

“Just rest,” Sam whispered as he lifted his hand over Dean’s side and gently settled it down again just below his bellybutton. When Dean didn’t even flinch, Sam carefully pushed the material of his shirt up higher, exposing his bloated belly. He gave the taut skin a few gentle pats, before he started to slowly rub his warm palm back and forth over the stretched skin. Dean made some content noises, but didn’t wake up.

Eventually, Sam fell asleep with his hand still on his brother’s tummy.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam wasn’t surprised when Dean woke up the next morning with absolutely no recollection of what had happened the night before. At one point during the night, Sam had rolled over onto his other side, facing away from his brother, only to be woken up a while later to the disturbing sound of Dean heaving over the edge of the bed, missing the trashcan by an inch or two. After cleaning up the watery mess and repositioning his drunk brother safely on his side again, Sam had left to go back to sleep in his own bed.

When Dean had stumbled into the kitchen around noon, looking disheveled and hungover as hell, Sam had simply pushed a large cup of coffee in his brother’s hands. Collapsing onto one of the stools at the table with a groan, Dean had practically _inhaled _the strong, black liquid—Only to throw it back up ten minutes later.

After that, the night wasn’t brought up again and Sam tried to forget the way his large palm had felt on his brother’s bloated stomach.

Two months later, Sam couldn’t even remember anymore what downtime had felt like. They were rushing from hunt to hunt; burning bones, exorcising demons, beheading vampires... Each night was spent in another dodgy motel, until Sam didn’t even know what state they were in anymore. It all blurred together after a while.

That went on for three long, never-ending weeks. By the time they arrived back at the bunker after a particularly nasty salt-and-burn in Iowa, they were both dead on their feet. Sam winced when he reached for his duffel bag and felt a twinge in his left shoulder. Wordlessly, Dean took the bag out of his hands and carried it inside.

Despite being beyond the point of exhaustion, they were both too wired to go straight to bed. Sam was still mulling over certain aspects of the hunts, wondering if they could have saved more lives if they’d have done some things differently, and one look at his brother told him that Dean was struggling with the same self-doubt.

Realizing that brooding wasn’t going to change anything, least of all _the past_, Sam decided that they needed to do something _normal_in order to shake off the lingering adrenalin and stress. He poured them each a finger of whiskey, before grabbing the takeout menus from the kitchen. Neither of them felt like cooking, so takeout it was.

While Dean drove to the restaurant to pick up their order, Sam took a shower and dressed in clean clothes. He inhaled the scent of the familiar laundry detergent and sighed. _Home_.

An hours later, after downing some more whiskey and eating their weight in Chinese takeout, they settled down next to each other in front of the TV. Sam was comfortably buzzed and felt the last of the residual tension seep out of his body. He melted into the couch with a contented sigh.

They were halfway through an old classic movie when Dean started to shift uncomfortably; slouching down, leaning forward, moving his legs… Sam yelped when his brother accidentally bumped into his arm, causing him to spill beer all over his chest.

“Dean! Come on, man. Knock it off!” He glared at Dean, wiping his sticky fingers on his pants.

“Sorry,” Dean replied sheepishly and pushed to his feet, swaying a little.

Sam watched his brother stumble down the hallway in the dark. While he had switched to beer a while ago, his brother was still drinking whiskey. And whereas Sam was just tipsy, Dean was definitely on his way to being drunk. Not that Sam could blame him after the last couple of weeks.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, draining the last of his beer.

“Bathroom,” Dean replied, then hiccupped.

Leaning forward, Sam snatched the TV remote off the chunky coffee table and paused the movie. He leaned back against the comfortable couch and reached up to massage his sore shoulder. He’d iced it earlier and the alcohol also helped to dull the pain, but he could still feel the twinges whenever he moved his arm a certain why.

Sam’s lids were starting to slide shut after a couple of minutes. Sighing, he blinked his burning eyes and straightened up. Glancing down the hallway, he wondered what was taking his brother so long. He was just about to say, _“Screw it!” _and continue the movie without his sibling, when Dean came shuffling back. Sam had a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue, when he noticed two things at once.

_First_, Dean looked horrible. He was pale and unsteady on his feet and after spending almost his entire life in close quarters with his brother, Sam knew that what he was seeing was more than just Dean being drunk. And _secondly_, Dean was holding his stomach with pained creases around his eyes. He was slightly hunched over, apparently unable to stand up all the way. Sam straightened up, concerned.

“You okay?” he asked with a frown.

Dean slowly lowered himself back onto the couch, face twisted in a pained grimace. “No,” he grunted, rubbing his belly crossway through his dark grey shirt.

Sam sobered up a bit and moved closer to his brother. Despite the alcohol in his system, his mind started to race, wondering if he’d missed an injury his stubborn brother was hiding. “What’s wrong?”

Dean huffed out a breath and stifled a burp into his fist. “Ate too much. Dinner’s not sitting right.”

Sam’s eyes flickered down to where his brother’s hand was now resting on top of his stomach, only now noticing the visible swell under the dark shirt. His mouth went a little dry and he cleared his throat. “Does this really come as a surprise to you? You shoveled your food in your mouth like someone was threatening to take it away from you,” Sam laughed. “Not to mention the whiskey all that is swimming in.”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean grumbled with what could have only been described as a pout. His right hand dipped lower and Sam watched him unbuckle his belt and undo the top button of his jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, breath hitching when he heard his brother’s relieved sigh.

Dean squirmed around some more to find a comfortable position and when he did, he slapped the back of his hand against Sam’s chest. “Let’s finish the movie.” Welcoming the distraction, Sam picked up the remote again and pressed play.

The movie continued playing and Sam actually managed to focus on what was happening on screen rather than sneaking glances at his brother. The film was a classic and he had always enjoyed those.

By the end of the second act, though, Dean started to be a growing disturbance. Or, more precisely, the burps he kept trying to stifle in his fist. Despite the humming of the AC and the roaring noise of shots and explosions on TV, Sam could still hear them.

After listening to it for about twenty minutes, Sam huffed out a breath and paused the movie once again. He turned his head, scowling. “Dean. Can you _stop _that?”

Dean shifted, then winced, hand going to the left side of his distended stomach. “Not really.”

Sam was about to say something along the lines of, _“Serves you right, you glutton.” _when Dean suddenly lurched forward and let out a loud, sick sounding burp. One hand flew to his mouth and the other one clutched his stomach.

Alarmed, Sam gripped his brother’s left shoulder. “Whoa, easy! Are you going to throw up?”

Dean swallowed thickly, then shook his head. “Tried earlier. Nothing came up.”

That explained what Dean had been doing in the bathroom for so long and why he had looked pale as a ghost. He must have been feeling sick for a while. Sam squeezed his shoulder in silent comfort and moved to get up. “Let me get you some water.”

Dean grunted in protest and Sam paused. “No. Already drank too much today.”

“That’s _not _the same,” Sam chuckled, patting his brother’s shoulder fondly. “Then how about some Pepto Bismol? It might help.”

Dean snorted. “Sam, if I put anything else in my gut, I’ll either puke or explode. Your choice.”

“No Pepto then.”

“Smart decision,” Dean grumbled, then curled forward with a groan, hands sandwiched between his thighs and swollen stomach. He hiccupped again. “I think I’ve had too much whiskey…”

Sam rubbed his back. “For once, I don’t think _that’s _the main issue.”

Dean stifled another belch. “Guess you’re right. My stomach feels so full I don’t think I’ll _ever_need to eat.” He grimaced and then slowly leaned back against the cushions, hands on either side of his belly. Sam’s eyes were instantly drawn to the swell.

Unexpectedly, Dean sucked in a breath and pressed a hand to his stomach, just below his sternum. “Crap.”

“Cramp?”

“Yeah,” Dean gasped, then burped. “Shit.”

Taking pity on his suffering brother, Sam reached out and slowly started tugging at his arm. “Come on. Lay down.”

Grunting his objection, Dean tried to struggle out of Sam’s grip, but only ended up upsetting his stomach even further. He hiccupped and cursed as another cramp squeezed his belly, before eventually giving in and laying stretched out on the couch with his head pillowed on Sam’s leg. He was still grumbling unhappily, making Sam roll his eyes.

“You’re lucky I didn’t puke all over you just now,” Dean snapped, the slur from too much alcohol more prominent in his voice.

“Quit whining,” Sam sighed, as he maneuvered one of the throw pillows underneath his brother’s swollen belly. “There. You good?”

“I still have a stomachache,” Dean grouched, kneading the lower part of his belly. He had pulled up his shirt a bit, revealing a sliver of stretched skin.

Sam put his hand on his brother’s side. “Give it a few minutes. Laying on your left with your head elevated helps with digestion. And moving your hand clockwise will ease the stomachache.”

Rolling his head on Sam’s thigh, Dean peered up at him with a quizzical expression on his face. “When did you get your medical degree, _Mister Know-It-All_?”

Sam blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I read,” he explained casually.

Dean didn’t comment on that, instead he wriggled a little to find a more comfortable position, knocking the back of his head into Sam’s crotch. Sam hissed. “Hey, watch out!”

“You try moving around with a rock sitting in your gut!” Dean bit back, the discomfort making him crabby and short-tempered. He shifted more, then tensed and clutched his belly. “Son of a bitch. Goddammed cramps!” he cursed breathlessly.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Clockwise, Dean. Trust me, it’ll help.”

“I’m doing it clockwise.”

“Do you even _know _which way clockwise_means_?”

“I’m going clockwise!”

“No, you’re not. You’re going—"

“Sammy, I swear to god—!”

“Christ, just let _me _do it!” Before he was aware of what he was doing, Sam knocked Dean’s hand away and pushed his palm against his brother’s stomach. He began moving his hand in a large circle, applying just a little bit of pressure. “See, _that’s _clockwise!”

Dean stiffened and went perfectly still, barely breathing. His mind only now catching up to what he was doing, Sam froze as well. Maybe the beers had gone to his head more than he had thought.

Neither of them said a word until Dean’s belly let out an angry, gurgly noise, interrupting the tense silence. Hissing, Dean instinctively pressed a hand to the spot, which just so happened to be right beneath Sam’s palm. “Listen, smartass,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “If you think you know everything better, then at least _do _it.” Dean arched his back a bit, pressing his swollen belly more firmly into Sam’s hand.

Surprised and stunned about what he was encouraged to do, Sam didn’t move a muscle. That was until he felt something clench right underneath his hand and Dean groaned as another cramp seemed to squeeze his insides. His brother’s pained moan made Sam flinch and he picked up where he had left off; rubbing slow, easy circles over the soft cotton shirt.

As expected, Dean’s belly was firm and swollen. No wonder his brother was in pain. His stomach was stretched with barely any give. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, though, because Sam had seen the amount of food his brother had eaten.

After a few minutes, Sam started toying with the hem of Dean’s shirt. He glanced down at his brother, who had his eyes closed and was breathing shallowly. There was still a pinched expression on his face, revealing that his stomach was still aching severely. And because of that, Sam decided to just go for it.

Slipping his fingers underneath the shirt, Sam started to explore the warm skin. Splaying his long fingers, he pressed down just the tiniest bit. Dean grunted, then burped, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to have fallen into a drunken state of dozing. Or maybe it was more of a _food coma_. Smirking, Sam continued to press down whenever he felt a particularly firm spot, working out any excess air that was trapped. He knew from experience that it helped with nausea.

“Do you still feel sick?” Sam asked a little while later, not sure if he would receive an answer or not, while soothingly massaging the right side of his brother’s distended belly.

Dean hiccupped again and looked up at Sam with heavy-lidded eyes and a shit eating grin on his face. “Keep doing that for another two hours and I’ll be good as new.”

Sam knew it was meant a joke, but his older brother had no idea that he was more than willing to do this the entire night if necessary. With a knowing smirk, he glanced at Dean’s swollen tummy and gave it an affectionate pat.


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t be serious.”

Dean slapped the laminated menu card down on the table and leaned back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest. “Deadly,” he replied with a smug smirk that let Sam know that arguing was essentially pointless. His brother had set his mind on something and no one was going stop him.

Nonetheless, Sam tried to reason with his stubborn brother. “Dean, come on.” He glanced around the crowded diner, discreetly pointing out a couple of more corpulent guests. “Those challenges aren’t made for guys like _you_.”

“Guys like me?” Dean repeated, looking as if he’d bitten into an extremely sour lemon. “What’s _that _supposed to mean?” he asked, sounding mildly offended.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s misplaced oversensitivity. “It _means _that you’ll make yourself sick.”

Dean snorted, as if Sam had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “No, I won’t.”

Quickly growing frustrated with the discussion, Sam leaned forward and pinned Dean with a glare. He lowered his voice and stabbed a finger at his brother. “Do I have to remind you of the last time you overate? You almost hurled and kept bitching about your stomachache for _hours_!”

“That doesn’t count,” Dean denied with a shake of his head. “I was drunk that night.”

Sam waved a hand at the empty beer bottle at his brother’s elbow. “And you aren’t now? What is this, your fifth today? Sixth?”

“Come on, you know a couple of beers don’t get me drunk.”

“Dean—”

Just then, their waitress approached the table. She appeared to be in her late fifties with her grey streaked hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. Her blue eyes instantly lit up when she laid eyes on Dean, just as they had before when she’d served them their drinks. Sam had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the obvious attraction. “What can I get for you?” she asked, as she pulled out a little notepad and a pen.

With one last smug grin at Sam, Dean turned to the waitress and gave her one of his famous smiles that tended to make women weak in the knees. His gaze dipped to her nametag for a second, before coming back up. “Denise, I’d like to order the _Five Pound Lasagna Challenge_, please.”

Denise raised her eyebrows, looking impressed. Sam had expected her to give his brother the same _are-you-kidding-me _expression he had had, but she actually looked genuinely impressed. “Sure thing, sugar,” she said and scribbled the order down. Then she looked at Sam.

“Caesar Salad for me, thanks.” He handed both menu cards back and waited until Denise was out of earshot before hissing, “I can’t wait to tell you _I told you so_!”

When their food was brought out twenty minutes later, Sam’s jaw almost dropped. The large dish that was set down in front of Dean was ginormous and for just one second, Sam thought he saw something akin to _doubt _flicker across his brother’s face. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared and before Sam could question it, Dean started to dig in.

Feeling nauseated from just _looking_at the five pounds of pasta, sauce and meat, Sam picked up his own fork and stabbed it through a piece of lettuce. Despite trying not to look, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at his brother. Something deep inside his gut fluttered every time he watched Dean swallow another mouthful. With a grunt, he tried to quench the feeling and focus back on his salad.

By the time Sam was done with his dinner, Dean had eaten a little over a quarter of the lasagna. Pushing his own plate away, Sam leaned back and quietly observed his brother. Completely oblivious, Dean kept eating, shoving forkful after forkful into his mouth. There was a speckle of tomato sauce on his right cheek, as well as on his chin. Sam chuckled, wondering if their waitress still felt attracted to his brother.

“What’s so funny?” Dean interrupted his train of thoughts. He seemed to be taking a break, taking some sips of his water while his other hand rested on his belly.

Grinning, Sam gave his brother’s stomach—or what little he could see of it over the table—a pointed look. “Full already?”

“Not even close,” Dean replied with a smirk and dug back into his dinner.

Amused by the eagerness, Sam settled back against the booth and watched him swallow down another mouthful of rich lasagna. He wasn’t really surprised by Dean’s appetite. They’ve just come of a hunt and in between trying to save the kidnapped little girl and killing the monster that did it, they hadn’t really had much time to eat.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam’s amusement had lessened considerably and minor concern had taken over. Dean was more than halfway through the food, but he had slowed down and seemed to be having more difficulty with the act of swallowing.

Despite the fact that Sam didn’t mind watching his brother overindulge, there was a part of him—the _responsible _part—that wanted to make Dean stop. Because eating five pounds of _anything_wasn’t healthy.

So, when Dean took another breather a few minutes later, Sam spoke up, “Come on, Dean. You can’t possibly still be hungry.”

Dean, who stifled soft burps into his fist, looked up. He might not have said anything, but Sam saw the discomfort in his green eyes. Yeah, he’d definitely had enough.

“Just let them bag up the rest and let’s get out of here,” Sam suggested.

“No,” Dean replied, shaking his head. “I can finish this.”

Frustrated with his brother’s stubbornness, Sam ran a hand through his hair. Everyone always said their father had been the bullheaded one of the family, but Dean was way worse. Whenever he had his mind set on something, he didn’t let anyone talk him out of it. It was one of his worst, but also one of his best qualities.

Realizing that there was nothing he could say or do, Sam crossed his arms over his chest and watched his brother shove another pile of pasta into his mouth. He decided to simply give it another five minutes. Eventually, Dean would come to his sense.

When nearly three quarters of the plate were gone, Sam thought his brother was finally willing to throw in the towel. At this point, Dean was breathing almost shallowly and there was a constant pinch around his eyes and his mouth, indicating pain.

Sam had planned on waiting for his brother to give in without being forced to, mainly because he did enjoy watching his brother eat, but when Dean suddenly turned a spectacular shade of green, Sam almost leaped over the table. “Dean,” he said, alarmed, and slipped out of the booth to squeeze in next to his brother. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Dean, who was panting through what Sam assumed was a nasty wave of nausea, once again shook his head. “I have to finish this. I want the damned t-shirt!” he gritted out through clenched teeth, stirring anger in Sam’s gut.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sam growled loudly. “Look at you! You look like you’re about to puke!”

A few of the other guests turned around to look at them and Dean scowled at him. “Keep it down, man,” he hissed, followed by a burp he stifled with the back of his hand. His other hand went to his belly.

Sam tried not to look. He really, really tried. But his eyes drifted downwards on their own accord and before he knew it, he was staring at his brother’s middle, mesmerized by the hand that rubbed it. Despite the many layers of clothing Dean wore, his swollen stomach was clearly visible beneath his black shirt. Sam swallowed dryly.

“Dude!” Dean smacked his arm. “Stop staring!”

Blushing, Sam averted his gaze. Only to notice that Dean had once again picked up his fork. A part of him wanted to encourage his brother to keep going, to eat it all. But, like before, the voice of reason won out.

“Dean, you’ve eaten over four pounds of food already. I can see that you’re uncomfortable. Just stop,” he pleaded. “I can already see myself scrubbing puke off the upholstery of the Impala.”

Dean glared at him, clearly not happy about bringing Baby into this. “I’m _not _going to puke,” he said around a mouthful of lasagna. He swallowed it down with difficulty and Sam saw how he almost choked on it. He huffed out a breath.

Five forks later, Dean’s body seemed to take Sam’s side.

Dean gasped in pain and his cutlery hit the plate with a loud clanking noise. He doubled over, forehead almost smacking the table, and wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was groaning in agony. “Son of a bitch!”

“Dean. Hey…” Sam murmured, shifting closer.

“Sam, I think something just tore open inside of me,” Dean moaned, curling in on himself even further.

“No, it didn’t. That’s just a cramp—Which you get for being a stubborn jerk,” Sam sighed. Then, without consciously making the decision, he put his large palm on the top of his brother’s belly and applied just the tiniest bit of pressure. Dean grunted and tried to shift away, stifling a burp in his fist.

“Are you nuts?! That _hurts_!” he snapped. But the anger quickly morphed into pain again and he started kneading the sides of his stomach. Gently and, with what Sam could see, barely any pressure.

Sam should have removed his hand, he knew he should have. But the feeling of his brother’s firm belly under his palm, warm and stretched, fascinated him. “You really want to finish all this? You can do it,” he blurted out, shoving his inner voice of reason deep down where it couldn’t reach him anymore.

“I want that shirt,” Dean replied stubbornly. He eyed the remaining food and swallowed thickly. “But I don’t think I can physically eat another bite. I’m about to burst…”

Sam moved his hand to the lower part of his brother’s belly and rubbed small circles just below his navel. “Just relax for a moment, let the food settle a little.” He gently dug his fingers into the stretched skin, feeling barely any give. With gentle, yet precise pressure, he let his fingers travel clockwise on Dean’s belly. “How does this feel?”

Dean gave his brother an odd look. One that Sam couldn’t place. For a moment, it looked like he was about to say something, but then seemed to decide otherwise. Instead, he slowly relaxed against the padded booth, letting out a shaky sigh. “Aches.”

Sam shifted his upper body a little, positioning himself between his brother and the other guests in the diner. He knew Dean wasn’t comfortable with being watched, especially not in a situation like this. So, he angled his torso slightly forward and to the right, creating a barrier that blocked out all prying eyes.

That done, he focused back on his brother. “Aches, huh,” he repeated. “Well, you’re really full.”

Dean snorted, waving a hand at his middle. “Ya think?”

With a chuckle, Sam patted his brother’s swollen belly. “Let’s unbuckle your belt and open the fly of your pants. It’ll help.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Dean looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I’m not gonna take off my pants in a diner, you freak!”

Sam rolled his eyes, hand stilling over his brother’s belly button. “No one said anything about taking them _off_, Dean. I just want you to be more comfortable.”

Dean looked suspicious, but he didn’t protest when Sam slipped his hand underneath the swell of his belly and started fumbling with the buckle of his belt. “Whatever happened to you wanting me to stop?” he asked, curious.

Shrugging, Sam loosened the leather belt, avoiding his brother’s searching eyes. His face was burning and his heart pounding. Heat was pooling in the pit of his gut and he prayed to god that Dean wasn’t aware of any of it.

“Well, if you want that shirt so badly…” he trailed off with a shrug, hoping to sound casual. Dean squinted at him, looking wary.

Sam was saved from having to offer any further explanations when the top button of his brother’s jeans came undone. Dean sighed in instantly relief. “Okay, you get a point for this one,” he approved while fingering the red welts around his waist.

Smiling, Sam put his hand back on Deans’ swollen stomach and continued to gently massage it. He could feel the contents shift, pushing outwards against his palm.

“How are the cramps?” Sam asked a few minutes later.

“Better.”

“Think you can finish the rest?” Sam asked, heart in his throat. “I think you can.”

Dean grimaced, rubbing his full stomach. “I don’t—” He stopped speaking when their eyes met, then sigh wearily. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do it…”

And he did.

The last five bites took almost twenty minutes and a lot of coaxing from Sam, but Dean eventually managed to polish off the entire five pounds of lasagna.

Denise was beaming when she came over to deliver the shirt Dean had wanted so badly, but he didn’t seem to care even a little about it now. Instead, he looked like he was ready to pass out. Slumped against Sam with both hands tucked underneath his shirt to hold his overstuffed stomach, he was a pitiful sight. And Sam suddenly felt guilty for encouraging him to finish.

“Let’s get outta here,” he said quietly and gently nudged his brother’s shoulder to get him moving.

But Dean just groaned miserably. “I don’t think I can move. Should have listened to you.” His stomach gurgled noisily, making him flinch. “Haven’t felt pain like that in a while…”

The admission felt like a punch to the gut for Sam. Remorse washed over him, making him feel embarrassed. This hadn’t been his intention. He had been under the assumption that Dean enjoyed eating, enjoyed pushing his limits. But, apparently, he’d pushed a little too far.

“Remember when I said I wouldn’t puke?” He hiccupped. “Not so sure about that anymore…”

Sam rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “Come on, I’ll help you up. Some fresh air is gonna help with the nausea.”

Dean nodded against his shoulder and slowly started shifting his weight a little. Sam slid out of the booth and offered his hand to his brother. Thankfully, the diner had emptied out quite a bit and the few people that were still around didn’t pay them any heed.

Twenty minutes later, Sam was steering the Impala down an empty stretch of road, back toward Kansas. The sun had set already and dusk was approaching. He flipped on the car’s headlights.

Next to him, Dean was dozing with his head resting against the window. Even in his sleep, his face was pinched and his swollen belly rose and fell with each shallow breath. He would moan softly whenever Sam hit a pothole, but never actually wake.

Sam flexed his hands around the steering wheel. He longed to reach out, to plant his hands on the taut surface of his brother’s full stomach.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t get the picture of Dean, groaning in pain, that had nothing to do with pleasure, out of his head. This wasn’t Dean’s thing and he’d unintentionally pushed him into it. Guilt settled like a rock in his gut and he clenched his jaw.

“Sam?”

Sam startled and then accidentally hit a large pothole. Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, looking over at his brother in concern. His eyes briefly went down to his brother’s distended belly before going back to the road. “How’s your stomach?”

Dean sighed. “It still hurts. The pressure up here is almost unbearable,” he admitted, followed by a burp.

Glancing over again, Sam watched his brother pull up his shirt, exposing his entire stomach. He framed his swollen belly with both hands, kneading it. “How long do you think this takes to digest?”

Sam didn’t reply, didn’t even really hear the question. His eyes were glued to the stretched skin of Dean’s perfectly round stomach. Without the shirt, it looked even bigger and firmer. He longed to run his hands over it.

“You’re totally into this, aren’t you?”

Sam froze. Ice replaced all of his bodily fluids as his gaze snapped back to the road, staring straight ahead. He felt like a deer caught in a truck’s headlights and for one second, he thought about shoving the Impala’s door open and jumping out. “What?” he croaked, clearing his throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

There was a huff from the passenger seat; half pain, half _don’t-bullshit-me_. “I think you know exactly what I mean,” Dean replied.

Blood was rushing in Sam’s ears and his hands started to tremble. With the last bit of control left, he pulled over and parked the car next to the road. He looked at his brother, desperate. “I-I can explain.”

Dean shifted his weight so he was fully facing his brother. “You don’t have to explain anything,” he grunted. “I’m not judging you, okay? I’m just curious.”

Sam inhaled shakily and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Alright, yeah. I-I guess I… I guess I do like it.”

Despite the lines of pain that were still painted all over Dean’s face, he smiled. “Don’t worry, Sammy. This isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.” He shuddered. “Trust me…”

A little bit of tension oozed out of Sam’s body, giving way to relief. It somehow felt good to have someone know about this, especially someone as accepting as his big brother.

Dean shifted again, hands cupping the lower part of his swollen stomach. It gurgled angrily. “Tell you what. I’ll let you touch my stomach for as long as you want, if you keep up the belly rubs. Because I gotta admit; they’re pretty awesome. Deal?”

Sam blinked in surprise. “You sure?”

“Dude, there’s five pounds of lasagna packed into my gut. I’ve never been this full in my entire life and the cramps make me want to stab myself. So, yeah, I’m sure.”

Tentatively, Sam reached out and placed both his hands on his brother’s swollen belly. Dean hissed a little at the added pressure, but didn’t pull away. Remembering what he had said before, Sam slid his hands to the upper part of the stomach, right where it started to swell out. He gently pressed down.

“Please, just don’t make me puke…” Dean groaned, as he let his head thunk back against the window.

Sam chuckled, massaging the stretched skin. “I’m not gonna make you puke. I know what I’m doing.”

He continued to gently rub, knead and massage his brother’s stuffed stomach. He forced out some excess air and took care of the cramps he could feel underneath his fingertips.

“Is that okay?” he asked a bit later, as he worked his way down to the belly button.

When he received no answer, he looked up at his brother—and started to grin. Dean’s head was tipped back against the window, lips slightly parted with a tiny bit of drool stuck in the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Sam grinned, as he continued to run his warm hands all over his brother’s swollen tummy.

When the last remaining light was starting to fade, Sam scooted back behind the Impala’s wheel and pulled back onto the road. With one hand wrapped around the steering wheel, his other one was free to give his brother all the belly rubs he desired.

Dean had been right. This was a pretty sweet deal for both of them.


End file.
